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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29950782">before I knew that I had begun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemodye/pseuds/haemodye'>haemodye</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Importance of Dynamics [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Forced Bonding, Intersex Tony Stark, Iron Man 3, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, POV Steve Rogers, POV Tony Stark, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Themes, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Unreliable Narrator, buckle up folks because it's gonna be a bumpy ride</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:43:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,699</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29950782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemodye/pseuds/haemodye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has hated every shrink he's ever talked to, but he'll try again for Steve. Steve's never been to therapy before, but he's committed to making their relationship work, even long distance. Slowly, with the reticence of wounded animals, they learn how to talk to each other.</p>
<p>Then the Mandarin blows up Happy Hogan, Tony threatens him on national television, and everything goes to shit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Importance of Dynamics [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>before I knew that I had begun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The promised climax of this angsty slow burn soulmate series! There will be a happy ending at the end this time, I absolutely promise. </p>
<p>There might be some one shots after this one, but this will be the end of the angst arc. I have some ideas for cute/smutty one shots, which I think they deserve after all the pining lol.</p>
<p>Work has been kicking my ass, so this isn't done at all. But I keep getting email notifications re: comments, and I've had this and the next chapter written for ages so i figured I might as well just post them. Hopefully work will ease up soon and I can finish some of my WIPS (!!!) and also post the end of this one.</p>
<p>I also tripped and fell SO hard into SpideyTorch this week???? I blame some of the lovely comments I got on <i>when you are fallen</i> this month for getting me to check out Fantastic Four fandom. It feels like shipping Spideytorch is the natural extension of being a 616 Stony fan haha. Slow build! Pining! Years of Best Friend Feels and homoerotic tension! Seems like it's a bit of a Rare Pair tho, so if anyone's got any fic recs I would love some.</p>
<p>Warnings: period-typical (20's-40's) homophobia, discussion of the AIDS epidemic, discussion of homophobic slurs/language, discussion of AIDS-related death...just a pretty intense convo. stay safe and lmk if you think I missed anything!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>September 2nd, 2012 </em>
</p>
<p>Steve waits until five days after their breakup to call Tony.</p>
<p><em>Is it a breakup?</em> Tony isn't really sure. He'd meant for it to be a break-up, but he turned out to be pitifully weak to Steve's tears. He doesn't think Steve is going to give up so easily. They're on a break, but that's not a break-up.</p>
<p>Tony feels like he's in college all over again.</p>
<p>Five days is less time than Tony thought it would be, and he's been dreading it every single minute since he's been sober enough to know it was coming. Tony's elbow-deep in armour guts with little nicks and burns all over his skin, doing his best not to think about Steve at all. He's decided he's going to make the armour come to him, no matter where he is. The locator cuffs are chic, but they can be taken from him, forgotten, left on his bedside table. He needs something that will always find him. So he's always ready.</p>
<p>"Sir, it's Captain Rogers."</p>
<p>Tony's head snaps up so fast he bangs his head on the inside of the chest plate. "Shit," he hisses. "Yeah. Put him through."</p>
<p>A holoscreen filled with Steve’s sheepish, awkward countenance pops up next to Tony, who immediately raises his eyebrows at it. Steve's combed his hair. He's wearing a nice shirt. He looks like he's going to church.</p>
<p>"Did you go to church?" Tony blurts out, because he's a hot mess who's been awake for 52 hours.</p>
<p>Steve's mouth, caught in the middle of whatever greeting he'd been about to offer, smooths into a surprised o. "I did, yeah."</p>
<p>Tony smiles, pleased at his own deductive reasoning. "Same one? St. Joseph's right? Wasn't that your dad's name? Was he named after the saint? No, wait, sorry. Backtrack. I mean, how was it?"</p>
<p>Steve looks nonplussed by Tony's manic babbling. He rubs at his brow with one thumb. "Uh, it was… It was good. I like the priest there a lot. Been a while since I've been to mass, but uh." He colours, licks his teeth. It's strangely sexy. "Yes, my da was named after St. Joseph. I didn't know him real well, but I can tell you he wasn't much of a saint."</p>
<p>"Ooh, I smell daddy issues," Tony says, probably a little too gleefully. He's trying to distract Steve from convincing him to change his mind, mostly because he isn't sure he's strong enough to resist his arguments. Steve's beautiful, and he's weak, okay? He's always known this about himself. He's so weak to a pretty face, and he's started to like Steve, despite everything. He's grown on Tony, slowly, without him noticing. Like algae on a sloth. "You've been holding out on me, Rogers. Tell me everything."</p>
<p>Steve laughs, low and overwhelmed. He rubs a hand over his eyes. "There's not much to tell," he admits. "Died when I was real young. Drank too much. He had PTSD from the first World War, although we didn't have the words for that then. All I knew was that he was a mean drunk. But my ma cried when he died, even if I didn't. She knew a version of him I never got to see, I'd guess."</p>
<p>Tony chuckles mirthlessly. "Sounds like we have more in common than I thought."</p>
<p>Steve shrugs. "I guess. You remember Howard, though that seems a mixed bag.” Tony snorts, and Steve flashes him a wry smile—just the barest quirk of his lip, more exhale than anything. “I barely knew my da. Even when he was alive he was barely ever around. All my memories of him are kinda blurry. Faded." He smiles bitterly. "Like an old photograph. Fitting huh?"</p>
<p>Tony nods sympathetically, then lets out a quiet noise of triumph. He's briefly distracted by a microhinge. "Howard was always gone, too," Tony says, frowning at the delicate piece of machinery that is absolutely refusing to cooperate with him. "Missed a lot of birthdays. Ugh, come on, you're disappointing. You had <em>one</em> job."</p>
<p>"What are you working on?" Steve asks, laughter in his voice, and Tony wrinkles his nose at him without looking away from his work.</p>
<p>"M’gonna make a suit that'll come to me wherever I am," he says. "Teeensy tiny little jets. Pieces that fly independently and interlock in motion. Magnets. Microhinges! I hate them. It's a nightmare, why do I do this to myself? I came out here to my plush, custom-made California king bed and I've barely even seen it. If I could just get this stupid fucking vambrace aligned-!"</p>
<p>Tony sucks in a breath. He swipes the back of one hand over his forehead, turns to see Steve's brows furrowed in worry. He remembers his promise, which he's already broken. <em>Typical.</em></p>
<p>"Ignore me," he tells Steve. "What's up?"</p>
<p>"When was the last time you slept?" Steve asks him, and Tony frowns.</p>
<p>"Don't mother me," Tony warns, only half joking. "I can hang up on you."</p>
<p>Steve raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay," he says. He sucks in a breath, the kind that pulls his shirt tight over his chest. "I, uh. I had a question."</p>
<p>
  <em>Well that’s ominous.</em>
</p>
<p>"Shoot."</p>
<p>"Did you…I, uh. I was wondering if, maybe-"</p>
<p>"What do you need?" Tony prompts him, re-adjusting the direction of one of the microjets. "New commute, DC’s questionable public transit… A car? A motorcycle? I thought you had one of those. You've got a Triumph right? Did you want something else? Could get you a Ducati. Oh, no, you need to move your stuff. I've gotta have people for that. J-"</p>
<p>"I don't want to move my stuff!" Steve blurts out.</p>
<p>Tony raises an eyebrow. He pulls his head back away from the armour, turns to look at the holoscreen.</p>
<p>Steve's bright red, flushed and frustrated and embarrassed. It's a good look on him. Tony has so little self-control this deep into an engineering binge. "Since I'll only be working in DC short-term, SHIELD is going to set me up with a furnished apartment. I can come back to New York on the weekends, or longer when I'm not on mission. So Bruce doesn't get lonely. I…I like it here. And the studio you helped me set up is…I want to keep it, if that's okay. It's a real nice place to paint."</p>
<p><em>Ah, so the bargaining begins</em>. Tony almost wants to smile, despite himself. Here Steve is, calling his bluff. It's just for a little while, so he's not going to move out.</p>
<p>He tilts his head and studies Steve for a minute. Underneath his embarrassment, his eyes glint with a challenge. His jaw is set stubbornly. He's unbelievably attractive like this. Here’s the man that Tony’s read about: the one who hitchhiked across state lines to try to enlist under fake names up and down the Northeast.</p>
<p>"Sure," Tony says, smiling a little. "But how do you feel about moving downstairs a floor? I'm setting up suites for all the Avengers. When the renovations are done you'll have your own floor, and so will Bruce."</p>
<p>"I like my room now, actually," Steve says, his expression entirely too calculating. "If that's alright. The light in there is perfect. I was actually thinking that Hulk should have his own space to let loose, too—take the pressure off a little. Maybe we can use that space for him."</p>
<p>It’s not a bad idea. Tony had thought about making a space for the Hulk, although he’d been thinking of putting him in a subbasement. But that’s not the real issue, here. Technically, Steve’s current rooms are in Tony's part of the tower. Or they will be, once all the renovations are done. Steve’s not just refusing to move to DC. He’s refusing to move out of Tony’s penthouse.</p>
<p>Tony tilts his head, considering, and studies Steve’s face, the jut of his chin halfway between embarrassment and determination. Steve submits to his examination, expression entirely too placid: butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, no sir.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>"Sure," Tony says, a deep feeling of trepidation creeping up on him. This does not bode well for future negotiations. "Whatever you want, Michelangelo. Paint away."</p>
<p>"I'd like to consider myself a student of Joaquín Sorolla, actually," Steve says, mildly. "His use of colour and light is fantastic. I've been trying to work with pastels more, lately, and I've found his work real inspiring. Michelangelo's figures are too…exaggerated, for my tastes. I'm more interested in luminism."</p>
<p>Tony puts down his tools, because this warrants his full attention. He turns to the screen, stops fighting his grin, and lets Steve sit in his victory. The man's earned it. Steve's watching him carefully, his expression pleasantly neutral. His eyes are brighter than Tony's seen…maybe ever. They're engaged, intelligent. He's studying Tony like the famed tactician he's said to be.</p>
<p>"Okay," Tony says, "what the fuck? Who are you and what have you done with Steve Rogers?"</p>
<p>Steve narrows his eyes at Tony, almost playfully. Then something in his face softens. He looks down, away from the screen, and sighs. "I thought about the things you said for a long time. First I was angry." He snorts, an incredibly human sound that Tony's never heard him make before. It's strangely charming. "I'm still…angry is too small a word. But now that I’ve had some time to sit with it, I can admit you were right about some things."</p>
<p>"I often am," Tony says. He wonders if his surprise is visible on his face. "What was I right about this time?"</p>
<p>"I was trying too hard," Steve says, shrugging. "Walking on eggshells. I was so busy trying to be a good soulmate, I forgot how to be who I am. I put a lot of pressure on you, in a way that was unfair. I can understand that now, even if I don’t agree with how you’ve decided to handle it."</p>
<p>Tony raises his eyebrows. "Wow,” he says, and means it. “This is too much emotional honesty for…what time is it, even? I've been awake for coming up on three days now." He rubs at his eyes, laughing quietly. "What the fuck."</p>
<p>"Bruce found me a therapist here, Dr. Ingram. I like her. She doesn't let me get away with anything." He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. "Did you find someone, like you said? If not, Bruce has a recommendation for a doctor in LA, a friend of his. He does talk therapy and can also prescribe medication. You should call him."</p>
<p>"Oh my god," Tony says. He can't stop laughing. "I've made a mistake."</p>
<p>"Should I text you his number? Or maybe I should give it to JARVIS. He can schedule an appointment," Steve goes on, and Tony drops his head into his hands.</p>
<p>"Stop," he pleads. Blessedly, Steve stops talking. "Jesus, Lovelace, and Tesla."</p>
<p>He sucks in a shaky breath. Counts to five. Lets it out again. Rinse, repeat.</p>
<p>"Tony?" Steve says, hesitantly now, and Tony lifts his head to look at him. He looks a little bashful, now. All that fire, and he'd been stoppering it up. He'd smothered it because of Tony.</p>
<p><em>Look at you,</em> Tony thinks. <em>You're magnificent.</em></p>
<p>"So this is who you are under all that aw shucks bullshit, huh?" Tony asks, because he's not going to take this lying down. If Steve wants to play, he'll damned well play.  "You're a mouthy little brat."</p>
<p>Steve studies him for a long moment. Three breaths. Four. A small, shy smile breaks over his face. "I think you like me better this way,” he says, slowly, like he’s testing the words out in his mouth.</p>
<p>"I think I do, too," Tony agrees, and that gets him a lovely coral blush. "Fuck, you're <em>trouble</em>, Captain. I regret everything."</p>
<p>"Do you?" Steve asks. His face softens, turns pleading. It's a familiar expression, but it hurts less to look at it now. Tony feels the strangest sort of pride looking at him. He feels like something inside of him can finally just lay down and sleep. "I want you to know me. Will you let me try again?"</p>
<p>This is not how Tony thought this call was going to go. What's the phrase? No plan survives contact with the enemy? No, there's an even better one, considering the way Tony prefers to do science. He thinks it goes something like this: ‘In theory, there is no difference between theory and practice. In practice, there is.’ Here it is in practice. His soulmate: a soft-skinned, weirdly hairless, blonde artist with a heart of gold and a stubborn streak a mile wide. An alpha born in 1918, a time traveller who's both 27 and 94 years old, who'd spent hours on Tumblr trying to understand why his soulmate was so tetchy about dynamics, who crawled out of the dredges of internet SJW blogs as an omega rights activist. Out of all of the infinite combinations of DNA possible, his hypothalamus had chosen the body of a man who would drag himself across broken glass if Tony asked him to. This is the real Steve Rogers, and he’s just as impossible as Tony had been told from birth.</p>
<p>But Tony doesn't want to ask Steve for anything. That's the thing he hadn't been able to say to Bruce, that he's kept hidden behind the arc reactor next to his battered heart all this time. He doesn't want Steve's noble sacrifices. His careful, smothering sense of duty. His beautiful tears. After their last conversation, he'd expected shouting. Recriminations. He'd expected all of the weighty force of Steve's anger to come bearing down on him, just like it had on the helicarrier. He was prepared for that. He'd expected that. He wasn't ready for this coy, teasing campaign. He wasn't prepared for mischief and flirtation, for Steve to bare his heart like it was easy and then ask for Tony to do the same.</p>
<p>"Okay," Tony says. It's quiet, but he feels fragile, right now. This moment feels incredibly fragile. "Okay. Let's do it."</p>
<p>Steve's smile is like the sun rising over the dark mountains. There might be trumpets. His eyes crinkle at the corners.</p>
<p>Tony could fall in love with this man.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck, I'm in so much trouble.</em>
</p>
<p>"Thank you," Steve says, and it's earnest and sweet, "for giving me another chance."</p>
<p><em>I never had a choice,</em> Tony thinks. <em>I never had a chance. I'm going to lose this battle.</em></p>
<p>Is this what it feels like, meeting your soulmate for the first time? Tony feels like he's in an 80's ballad. He expects there to be strings.</p>
<p>"Don't mention it," Tony says, when the silence has dragged on for too long. He ducks his head, fiddles with the end of a pair of forceps. "I've found myself paying attention when Pepper talks about art, which I'm sure has absolutely nothing to do with you. Tell me what the hell luminism is while I try to get this couter to work properly."</p>
<p>"Only if you promise to teach me the names for all your armour bits," Steve bargains, and Tony laughs.</p>
<p>"It's a deal."</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>September 10<sup>th</sup>, 2012 </em>
</p>
<p>“I finished a book today.”</p>
<p>It’s the first thing Steve says when Tony picks up the phone. Or JARVIS, more accurately. Tony’s doing his best impression of a noodle on the workshop couch, his arm flung over his eyes. He feels like something curled up in his throat and died.</p>
<p>“Do you want a sticker?” Tony asks.</p>
<p>There’s a pointed silence in the room, and Tony exhales sharply and moves his arm, scrubbing both hands over his face.</p>
<p>“I’m an asshole,” he says. He tips his head to the side, heavy-eyed, to look at Steve’s hologram. His jaw is tight, and he’s not looking at the camera. “Cap.”</p>
<p>Steve looks up, his lips a flat line. Tony offers him a weak, tired kind of smile.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says, and Steve huffs. His face softens. “There we go. Tell me about your book.”</p>
<p>Steve leans closer to the screen, eyes narrowing. He’s probably on his StarkPad, from the angle. He’s in bed, leaning against the headboard. His shirt is too tight. <em>Why are his shirts always so tight?</em></p>
<p>“You don’t look so good,” he says, and Tony chuckles.</p>
<p>“Charm me, why don’t you?”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Steve says, genuinely enough, and Tony laughs.</p>
<p>“You’re right, I’m a hot mess. But enough about me. You wanna tell me about a book you read. Let me guess, <em>The Omegan Mystique</em>?”</p>
<p>Steve makes a face like he gets the reference. Determination replaces worry on his proud brow. “<em>Sexing the Body</em> by Anne Fausto-Sterling, actually.”</p>
<p>A shiver begins in Tony’s stomach, travels all the way down to his toes. <em>Oh, fuck.</em> “You…” Tony laughs, then, helpless and utterly surprised. “<em>Damn</em>, gorgeous, warn a guy before you throw down like that.”</p>
<p>Steve blushes, but he’s grinning, too. “You like it when I take initiative in this area,” he says, like he’s providing a piece of intel for a mission.</p>
<p>Tony turns over on his side, pillowing his head on his folded arm. He gives Steve his full attention. “Okay, Gloria Steinem, what am I getting here? A book report? A discussion group?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You want a physical demonstration?”</p>
<p>“<em>Tony</em>,” Steve says, although it seems neither he nor Tony know what he means by it. <em>Step lightly, here. </em>“I just…can I ask, uh. I never did, because I didn’t want to be rude. But I thought, maybe, it would be okay to ask now.”</p>
<p>“Ask what?” Tony prompts, because he’s an asshole.</p>
<p>Steve knows he’s being goaded. Tony can tell, by the way his expression shifts into exasperation. But he rubs a hand over his head, sucks in a breath, and asks: “Would you mind talking to me about what being intersex means to you?”</p>
<p>“Wow,” Tony says, genuinely impressed. “You really went for it, huh. A+ phrasing. Strong delivery. Good job.”</p>
<p>“Tony,” Steve says, a gust of breath, but there’s laughter in it. “You’re making fun of me again.”</p>
<p>“I think you like it when I make fun of you,” Tony says, and Steve turns a deadpan expression on him. “Nope, that stern face doesn’t work on me anymore! You’re too far away to be scary. I can just hang up if I want to.”</p>
<p>Steve has a tell, when he’s thinking too hard. The very corner of his mouth purses just the tiniest bit. It makes him look irritated, but also kind of cute in a pouty way. Tony hates that he keeps noticing these things. “You really mean that,” he says, slowly. “Talking to me over video is easier for you.”</p>
<p>“No, no, stop that,” Tony says, waving a hand. His heart feels like it’s going to climb out of his chest.</p>
<p>“Stop what?”</p>
<p>“Stop- stop figuring things out about me,” he says. He almost means it. “This is terrible. I’ve made a mistake.”</p>
<p>“You’re a lot easier to talk to over video, too,” Steve says, cutting right through Tony’s dramatics. It’s a nasty habit. Tony hates it. “It feels…maybe, like the stakes are lower?”</p>
<p>Tony considers this seriously. Steve had always been running away, when they lived together. From his own bodily responses, from Tony, from conflict. But Steve’s never abruptly hung up on Tony during a video call before. Perhaps the distance gives him more space to breathe.</p>
<p>Tony shrugs. “I have congenital adrenal hyperplasia,” he says. “Excess alpha hormone.” He gives Steve a careful look. “Do you want specifics? If you’ve read <em>Sexing the Body</em>, you should have a general idea of what that means, but-”</p>
<p>“No,” Steve shakes his head, a bright blush overtaking him. “I said- I asked what it <em>means</em> to you. I, uh. I watched some of your interviews, where you talk about gender and sex and anti-dynamicism. I hope that’s ok. It seems like it’s really shaped your political beliefs and your moral principles. I want to know your mind.”</p>
<p><em>But not my body,</em> Tony doesn’t say. A small smile twists at his mouth against his will.</p>
<p>“Being a poor, disabled, Irish Catholic in the early 1900’s shaped your political beliefs and moral principles,” Tony says. “Just like becoming able-bodied after the serum did. Waking up in the future and suddenly finding yourself the epitome of ‘privilege’ by every measure—white, ostensibly straight, tall, blonde haired, blue eyed, financially stable, educated, well-connected, Christian, alpha—in the future is affecting you now. Everyone’s affected by their identity. What does being an alpha mean to you?”</p>
<p>Steve’s expression shifts through irritation, wry humour, and finally, into a curious kind of examination that Tony recognises well, now. It’s how Steve seems to look at him a lot these days, like he’s trying to puzzle Tony out.</p>
<p>“Before I had the serum, I had a complicated relationship to being an alpha,” Steve says, slowly. “I was glad, most of the time, but it was also something to be bullied over. That I didn’t fit the typical ideal of what an alpha was supposed to be. My presentation was something my ma and I were afraid of when I was a kid. A shadow hanging over us. If I was sick as I was and also an omega, if my ma had to try to find a place for me to spend my heats, or try to fix up our rickety apartment to keep out some stranger from the street… She couldn’t stay home with me. She had to work. It was a relief, to present as an alpha. One less thing to worry about. And then sometimes I thought, least I had that, even if I was sick. But I would’ve been alright, being a beta. I’d hoped I’d be a beta.”</p>
<p>“You’re talking about that fear like it’s tied only to your family being poor, or you being sick,” Tony says, “but it wasn’t so great being a male omega in the 1920’s.”</p>
<p>Steve huffs. “You could say that. It was still seen as kind of…well. Unclean, I guess, might be the nicest way to say it. People’d assume things about you, the kind of person you were, the things you liked.” He shrugs, uncomfortable, and slides down the bed until his shoulders are propped on the pillows, the camera staring up at his face from his chest. “But you know all that from the history books, I’m pretty sure.”</p>
<p>“Sure, but why trust books when I’ve got a primary source right here?” Tony says, and Steve quirks a tired smile. “How much do you know about the AIDS epidemic?”</p>
<p>Steve’s face smooths out. “Ah…not enough, probably.”</p>
<p>Tony nods. “It hit queer alpha and beta men the hardest,” Tony says, “because the nature of the kind of sex they were having was more likely to transmit it. And then it hit omega men, because of the community overlap, and that was it. Like wildfire. Just…” He makes an illustrative, explosive gesture with his hands. “Incalculable losses. To the culture, most of all. It seems stupid to say, but that’s all I can think of. All the brilliant people I knew who were gonna change the world—an entire generation of intelligentsia, just fucking wiped out.”</p>
<p>“You were careful?” Steve asks quietly, but Tony just laughs.</p>
<p>“No,” he says. “I was lucky. Can you really imagine a younger version of me being careful? I was incredibly lucky, and then I was scared as hell.” He rubs a tired hand over his face. “Omegas are so vulnerable. It’s astonishing, how vulnerable omega biology makes a human being. To be incapacitated during a heat season. To be hyperfertile. To be biologically weaker. Omegas are built for breeding, with the expectation that we’ll be taken care of. We were super-spreaders. Heat parties, you know? Normal, in the scene, but one omega invites over a handful of friends for a heat and suddenly you’ve got thirty, sixty people infected. Suddenly, the stereotypes were electrified. Must be right, huh? Male omegas are filthy knotsucking whores. Fucking fags deserve to die.”</p>
<p>Tony smiles, then, thinly. Steve’s expression is sombre. He’s still as a statue, eyes gleaming bright. “It was a double edged sword. My parents always assumed I was going to be an alpha. I mostly pass as one, even without blockers, and I’ve always hated doctors, so when I presented my parents didn’t really know. I smelled like an alpha, mostly. It wasn’t until my first heat that they realised something was wrong with me.”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Steve says, like he can’t help but say it. It’s sweet. Predictable, but sweet. “I…can I ask, uh. I can’t imagine Howard reacted well.”</p>
<p>Tony shakes his head. “Howard didn’t push treatment on me, believe it or not,” he says. “He wanted me to be an alpha. The only treatment any doctor would have given me would have made me more omega. He wanted me to pass as an alpha, but I didn’t want that. I felt…I just wanted to opt-out. D, none of the above. So I got cortisone supplements from a discrete, progressive doctor, and I joined the anti-dynamic movement.” He shrugs. “I was really lucky. My parents supported me, even if it was for the wrong reasons. And we were connected. But that’s not at all the case for most intersex people. If I’d been a female omega, they probably would have done surgery on me without my consent. Sometimes doctors don’t even tell the parents. They just operate on babies, make ‘em look ‘normal’ by a fucked standard. Better for everyone to spare them the <em>embarrassment</em>.” Tony’s mouth twists into a bitter sneer, but he can’t help it. “<em>Fuck</em> that.”</p>
<p>“I had no idea, until I read about it,” Steve admits. “It’s…it’s horrible, the way things are.”</p>
<p>Tony hums. “Well, better than it was,” he says philosophically. “But some of the people that hate me are kinda right, even if they are bigots. I became a so-called advocate because I was scared. I wasn’t really an activist. I was just a coward.”</p>
<p>Steve frowns. “You were a kid struggling with an oppressed identity during a deadly pandemic that was killing your friends. That’s not cowardice, Tony. You were protecting yourself.”</p>
<p>“Eh,” Tony says, rocking a hand back and forth. “I mean, like all teens, I got radicalised in college. So now I’m a True Believer™. Got the shirt and everything.” Steve blushes then, bright and showy. “What?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Steve says, and Tony squints at him.</p>
<p>“Why are you embarrassed?” Tony asks, curiosity sparkling to life in his veins. He sits up a little. “Look at you, Pinkie Pie, you’re adorable.”</p>
<p>“It’s nothing,” Steve says stiffly. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Why are you apologising?” Tony asks, baffled, but Steve shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Thank you for telling me,” he says formally. “I’ll…uh, I should get to bed.”</p>
<p>“Steve-”</p>
<p>“Good night, Tony.”</p>
<p>“You’re an asshole, Captain Avoidance!” Tony calls, but the video cuts out. He sighs and flops back down to the sofa.</p>
<p>“Well,” he says, philosophically enough, “it was bound to happen sometime. What the hell set him off?”</p>
<p>“If I may,” JARVIS says. An image pops up where Steve’s face used to be. Tony turns his head, curious, and then raises his eyebrows. It’s his Pamela Hanson photoshoot.</p>
<p>“Ohhhh,” he says, blinking. “Yeah, this would’ve come up on his Tumblr adventures, huh.”</p>
<p>JARVIS doesn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“JARVIS,” Tony says, slowly. “Are you violating your privacy parameters?”</p>
<p>“I would never.”</p>
<p>Tony grins. “Uh huh.” He glances over at the photo. He’s a lot younger, here. Peak twink days. He’d been feeling himself when this cover came out. He looks pretty sexy. “I should do a re-shoot. I’d rock the silver fox look. Make it more daddy. What do you think?”</p>
<p>“Surely your ego doesn’t need me to stroke it, sir.”</p>
<p>Tony laughs. He waves the image away. “Okay, break time’s over. Back to work.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to tell you that you ought to sleep, and you’re going to ignore me,” JARVIS predicts, good-naturedly enough.</p>
<p>“Consider yourself ignored.”</p>
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